ganjitsu
by myriadstars
Summary: [Angel Heart] A New Year's vignette, in which Ryo is quietly oblivious to the passage of time.


Author's Note: I wrote this Angel Heart vignette as a brief writing exercise last year after rewatching a few episodes of the anime!

When he wakes up on New Years' morning the world is still black and cold. They had a cold snap that year, a week of wind and rain and frost, and when the alarm goes off that morning his first sensation of the year is of the cold seeping under the blankets and into his lower extremities. His toes ached.

Saeba Ryo's first word of the year is a loud and startled "Shit!" as his alarm shocks him into wakefulness, untangling himself from the blankets to stop the blaring of his bedside radio.

"Should've worn socks last night." For a long, absurd moment, Ryo contemplates frostbite, imagines trying to chase skirts with toeless, flippered feet. He pushes the thoughts from his mind and his body from the bed, finding a pair of socks before sliding into the hallway on cats' paws.

On his way to the kitchen he steals a glance through Xiang Ying's cracked door. Here he finds a surprise: his daughter, the early-riser, still fast asleep with her dark hair splayed over the pillow.

"That's funny," he mutters, to himself. "Last year she was practically pounding down my door at this hour." He is accustomed to wakefulness from Xiang Ying in the early hours, an artifact from her old life that she was never able to escape. No time for restfulness between killings.

He studies her face in the glow of her recently-acquired television set, left on overnight, then realizes why she's asleep.

 _Must've fallen asleep watching Kohaku Uta Gassen._ Xiang Ying had been looking forward to the annual competition for weeks. "I can't wait to see Fujisaki Aya on Kohaku," she would say, or "Did you see Kamiya Naoko got an invite to Kohaku? I can't believe an independent singer got in. I'm so happy for her." Music is his daughter's latest interest, the newest aspect of normal life that his bright, curious daughter has seized upon, and she is tackling it with a passion previously reserved only for weaponry. The house is noisy now, alive with music for the first time since Kaori died.

Xiang Ying herself has been quiet lately – that much hasn't escaped him. In the evenings she pecks at her dinner, something he first chalked up to his bad cooking and then, with all the neurosis of parental speculation, to impending illness. But she still rises early and solves her cases with fierce courage and enthusiasm.

Maybe it's love. Maybe it's depression. Maybe he shouldn't bother.

He sets the ingredients for breakfast out on the counter and heads down to collect his paper.

It's freezing even in the hallway and his fingers are red and nearly numb by the time he makes it to the gray rows of metal mailboxes that line the first floor hallway and retrieves a soggy, dew-stained copy of the _Asahi Shimbun_. He's pulling it out of the box when a belated epiphany hits him.

"Don't tell me the heat's out to the whole building! That's the second time this year. I pay tens of thousands of yen a year to live in Siberia. How can I get mokkori without it turning into an icicle?"

He swears he'd file a complaint against management if he had legal personhood.

When he gets back to the apartment he digs in the closet for an extra blanket, then slides silently into Xiang Ying's room before draping it over his daughter. He has, still, a fear of her getting sick - in spite of Doc's protestations that it's just _fine_ , really, Xiang Ying is fine, and cold doesn't make you _sick_ , idiot - and in his mind's eye the cold is a long–fingered thing that slips between the covers to grasp her fragile heart.

In the end, Xiang-Ying doesn't wake until 9, toussle-haired and bleary-eyed as she takes her spot at the breakfast bar.

"Good morning, Ryo-papa," she murmurs as he pours her coffee.

"Sleeping beauty awakes," he says. "How was the singing show?"

"It was great," she says, brightening a little. "Red won this year. Aya-chan did so great! She has a beautiful voice." Ryo shovels rice into his mouth as he listens to her ramble about the night's events, about songs and dances how Who's Her Face kissed What's His Name and shocked the audience, asking the occasional clarifying question since he doesn't know who the hell these people are and can barely keep track of them. But it's nice to see her take an interest in something small and frivolous and just-for-fun.

After breakfast, Xiang-Ying wanders off to shower and dress for the day while Ryo settles in with the paper.

 _A New Year_ , he thinks, glancing at the date in the upper right-hand corner and the front-page photos of _New Year's_ celebrations at shrines and temples before thumbing his way over to a second-page report about a scandal involving a Diet member.

Xiang-Ying's cell phone is still on the counter from the night before, and when it rings it fills the air with squeaky vocals and an electronic beat. Another chart-topper, he thinks, and the ringtone for Xin Hong if he recalls correctly. Xiang Ying comes rushing out of the other room to answer it, hair still wet from her shower.

"What's up, Xin Hong?...Cat's Eye at 1:30…? No, we're not busy today…I'm sure Ryo-papa will agree. See you then!"

One the back page, there is a minor item, about a town Ryo half-remembers from a war he fought half-a lifetime ago, and he doesn't notice the blush in Xiang Ying's cheeks or the smile on her face when she hangs up the phone, and he certainly doesn't notice when Xiang-Ying slips off to her bedroom to put on lipstick.


End file.
